


Darkness of the Scavenger

by startabby



Series: Magic's Paladin [1]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Sentinels & Guides, Gen, Historical Fantasy, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, Past Torture, Past Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-07
Updated: 2020-06-13
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:00:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 18,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24580459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/startabby/pseuds/startabby
Summary: Dreams are all that sustain him here in this dark place, dreams of his life before and a hope to one day escape from captivity. But then, one day the dreams evolve. A mysterious creature, a black scavenger, is haunting him, warning of dangers, calling for him to change, to protect the realm. As light comes at last, Percival shuts his eyes from the glare and promises… he will be faithful to the charge of Magic.
Relationships: Pre-Slash Newt Scamander/Original Percival Graves
Series: Magic's Paladin [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1776673
Comments: 9
Kudos: 78
Collections: Minions' writings





	1. Story Notes and Character References

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Universe Notes and Cast Pictures

* * *

# Story Notes

For this story, Sentinels have basically faded into legend, as the circumstances that lead to their coming online (extreme isolation while in danger for extended periods of time) are rare.

Guides, on the other hand, are common, though they lack many of the powers that they would have if bonded.

Generally, unbonded Guides show some signs of their status by manifesting one or more of the common mental gifts. For example, Queenie has Legilimency, Newt has Empathy, Albus Dumbledore has a less powerful strain of Legilimency and Charisma, and Gellert Grindelwald has Charisma. Obscurials form when juvenile Guides are exposed to significant mental abuse, especially from those who should be their loved ones.

# Regarding Spirit Animals

Sentinels and Guides in the Wizarding World are matched to Magical Creatures.

Each Spirit Animal has a corporeal form, and if a Sentinel or Guide (latent or online) encounters their spirit animal they tend to form a Familiar bond with that animal. Otherwise, the spirit animals are present but not corporeal.

While I am using creatures from the film (Nundu, Demiguise) for Newt and Queenie's spirit animals, I decided to come up with my own Magical Creature for Percival's spirit animal.

Pelles is a Harpy, whose physical appearance is similar to that of a Vulture (the cast image is a Black Vulture, which I got to see the other day and are quite beautiful).

Since we've already got bird-women in the Harry Potter universe with Veela, I decided that Harpies here would be the Magical equivalent of Vultures. They are the original 'Death Eaters', Magical Beasts who consume the byproducts of Death Magic, eg Necromancy, Black rituals, etc. and thus cleanse the sites where such magics are performed. However, because they are only seen in the aftermath of nasty incidents they have a bad reputation among many as being the cause of Death Magic instead of a ‘natural clean-up crew’.

* * *

# Cast Pictures

**Percival Graves - Sentinel** :  
Played by Colin Farrell

| 

**Pelles the Harpy -  
Percival's Spirit Animal**  
  
---|---  
  
**Newton 'Newt' Scamander - Guide** :  
Played by Eddie Redmayne

| 

**Rosie the Nundu -  
Newt's Spirit Animal**  
  
**Queenie Goldstein - Guide & her sister Tina - Mundane**:  
Played by Allison Sudol and Katherine Waterstone

| 

**Dougal the Demiguise -  
Queenie's Spirit Animal**  
  
**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From the original story summary: "I've been playing with the characters of Newt Scamander and Percival Graves for one of my other stories, as well as the topic of Obscurials, so I was inspired to try a Sentinel/Guide story with those characters and elements."


	2. Visions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a captive Percival Graves has an unusual vision...

Darkness was the foundation of Percival Graves’ existence these days. The clock that hid his prison in its depths only let in a bit of light through its face. Even then, the light only came when the room where the clock stood was fully illuminated.

After innumerable days trapped in this tiny cavern, without his wand and with bonds suppressing his wandless Magic, Percival was a mess. He had developed the habit of prowling the extent of his prison, like a caged Nundu, a predator confined. The tiniest sound or change in the light coming in from the outside caused him to freeze, alert for anything that might lead to an opportunity for escape.

_It had been some time since the last visit by his captor. As always, Grindelwald had restocked the space with fresh food and water and vanished Percival’s collected waste, before taking a pair of sheers to his skull to collect fresh ingredients for his ‘Graves’ disguise._

_Once that chore was complete, Grindelwald had turned his attention to the main ‘event’. Torturing his prisoner. It was a task that had served two purposes. One, it was Grindelwald’s way of gaining intelligence. Two, it served as a source of sick amusement._

_Beyond the physical abuse, the torture had involved digging into Percival’s mind. In all of his interrogations, Grindelwald sought knowledge of MACUSA; its New York Headquarters, and its staff. In this, the latest session, the villain had inquired about the policies on the books regarding Magical Creatures, Accidental Magic, and the handling of No-Maj-born children and their families. He had also demanded that Percival describe how the official policy compared to actual practices amongst the staff._

_Beyond probing for insight into official and unofficial MACUSA policies, the blonde bastard had further delved into the depths of Percival’s social interactions with his peers and others. While he had already obtained details about Percival’s long-standing friendship with President Seraphina Picquery during previous sessions, he wanted more. Not only that, but he demanded further information about the nature of Percival’s relationships with his various subordinates in the Office of Magical Security._

_One such subordinate that Grindelwald had been particularly interested in was a witch by the name of Tina Goldstein. Grindelwald had bragged of demoting her after she ‘endangered his operation’, though not removing her from the Office of Magical Security. Instead of being a field Auror, she had been relegated to the Wand Permits desk, serving under a man who Grindelwald had already suborned._

_“Goldstein is trouble,” Grindelwald had commented at one point during their session. At that time, he had been taking a break from throwing curses at his defenseless captive. “She’s stubborn and is refusing to let go of her investigation of the Barebone family, despite her demotion. It is a bother.”_

_Grindelwald had flashed his captive a nasty grin. Then, he had shot off another hex. This particular hex had burnt a fresh stripe across Percival’s back as the immobilized Wizard suppressed a scream._

_After months of sessions, Percival’s back was covered with varying levels of scars. The layers of scar tissue did nothing to ease the pain. If anything, they made it increasingly difficult for Percival to heal after each subsequent session under the monster’s ‘care’._

_As Percival had struggled to control his instinctive response to the strike, Grindelwald had continued to speak. His conversational tone and casual manner had been a direct contrast to the current business, a reflection of how little he cared about what he was doing. To that maniac, Percival’s torture session was just another task to do._

_“It is true that the Barebone woman is a first-rate example of the kind of nastiness that the non-Magical are capable of showing,” Grindelwald had commented absently. “That is why I want her left alone. After all, how can I convince the Wizarding World that we need to take over if I don’t have examples? And how can I have a war without a non-Magical leader to fight?”_

_It was clear to Percival that Grindelwald’s question had been rhetorical, but he couldn’t help himself._

_“Yes, because another war is exactly what we need right now,” he had replied, breathing heavily as he shuddered through waves of pain._

_“Yes, we do.” Grindelwald had ignored the sarcasm in Percival’s voice. Instead, he had replied as if his victim had spoken sincerely. “Wizards are meant to rule, not hide in the shadows. It is for the Greater Good, after all.”_

_Grindelwald had twirled the wand that he held with apparent casualness. Percival had recognized that the move was a taunt. It emphasized the fact that the mad man was torturing his captive with his OWN wand._

_Percival had suppressed another scream, this time one of frustration._ If only I wasn’t wearing these suppressors… _he had thought._

_“I’m still no closer to finding my prize,” Grindelwald had mused, “though the child’s actions have been useful for other reasons. Still, you’d think poor, abused Credence would be of more use.”_

_He had then offered Percival a sinister smile. It was a sight made all the more disturbing by the fact that Grindelwald had been wearing Percival’s face and wardrobe._

_“I’ll have to visit him again, remind him who his only friend is,” he had said with a sneer. Then, with that final, nasty remark, Grindelwald had left the cell in a flourish of elegant robes._

_Since he had not bothered to cancel the immobilization, Grindelwald’s captive had been left stuck standing with his hands secured above his head. It would be several hours before the enchantment would weaken enough for Percival’s suppressed Magic to finally break it, allowing him to collapse onto the cell’s floor with a groan._

In the days since he had been first trapped in the darkness, the time had ceased to mean anything. Within the confines of his cell, Percival had no way to tell day from night. The only indicator that time had passed was the cycle of torture and begrudging healing, a cycle that had gotten worse over time. By now, he barely healed at all between sessions.

It didn’t help that he had great difficulty in sleeping in the cell. Between the pain and his instincts screaming danger, he was awake at all hours.

On rare occasions, when his exhaustion finally overcame him, Percival would drift off into a state of quasi-sleep. It rarely lasted long. Inevitably, something would startle him awake, whether pain or some other small change in his environment. But those little moments when he could escape, even for a bit, were all that kept Percival from completely falling into despair.

It was on one of these rare occasions that he managed to push past the pain and watchfulness long enough to drift off that something changed.

This time, when Percival drifted off he didn’t fall directly into a blissful state of unconsciousness. Instead, when he closed his eyes, he found himself suddenly transported elsewhere.

Far from the shadowy misery of his cell, Percival was now standing in a strange, blue-tinted landscape. Not only that, but all of the aches and pains that had become a permanent part of his existence had vanished. He felt like his old self again, clothes and everything.

_Impossible, even with magic…_ he thought. _Instantaneous transport was difficult enough to accomplish. But to add in full healing of cursed injuries… There was something else happening here._

Looking around, the landscape reminded Percival of the mature forests of upstate New York, the playground of his childhood. He could identify beech, ash, maple, oak, hickory, and many others. They were, of course, all tinted blue to match the rest of the environment.

That sense of familiarity was a comfort, however misleading it might be.

Percival wandered through the forest, glutting his senses on the sights, scents, sounds, textures, even tastes. He plucked and ate a small wild strawberry growing near the base of one of the trees just for the sheer joy of eating something fresh. The feeling of nature all around him was a balm to his wounded psyche, especially after weeks or, perhaps, months of living in the sensory deprivation chamber that was his prison.

Eventually, however, Percival’s wanderings led him to a clearing in the blue-tinted forest. There, perched on the stump of a downed tree, was the first sign of animal life. It was a massive black bird.

With a bald head and large size, the bird reminded Percival of the creatures that he had seen out in the battlefields of Europe during the Great War. Such animals could be seen overhead during the battles, increasing in numbers as men fell and blood and magic were thrown around in increasing quantities. Then, after the fighting had ended and the survivors had retreated back to their camps to regroup, the beasts would descend upon the bodies left behind. Knowing that the birds would tear apart their dead if left untended, many of Percival’s comrades had cursed the fowl, calling them the Eaters of Death. Despite their exhaustion, the men would do everything that they could to eliminate the flying scavengers. Still, the beasts returned time and time again, often in greater numbers than before.

Unlike his peers, Percival had never felt threatened by the scavengers. He recognized that they were present for a reason. When Wizards made a mess, Mother Magic provided.

As a result, he was unbothered by the appearance of his companion. Still, when he heard a voice inside his mind, Percival couldn’t help but flinch. Between the mental rape of Grindelwald’s Legilimency and the circumstances, his instincts were on overdrive.

**There you are, Sentinel.**

The bird’s voice echoed inside of Percival’s skull. The tenor of the voice was distinctly female and carried with it a maternal feeling.

**Welcome to my home.**

“Your home?”

**Yes. This is the spirit realm, the dwelling place of those who have agreed to partner with the Guardians that are called by Mother Magic to protect the Realm.**

“Then…” Percival couldn’t help his frown of confusion. “Why am I here?” He paused, but then quickly added. “Not that I am not grateful, ma’am, for the opportunity to visit. Your home is a place of peace.”

Though the bird’s outward position didn’t change, Percival could sense her amusement at his words.

**I am glad that you approve. And there is no need to call me ma’am. I am Pelles. You are here because I called you.**

“Called me?”

Pelles mantled on her perch, flaring her wings as she shifted position. As she did so, he caught a glimpse of white on the underside of her wings. But then, the sense of amusement vanished from his mind.

**Yes. You have been called, Percival Graves, by Mother Magic, to protect her Realm against the evils that threaten her. This is a calling that you have already accepted, as your past actions have shown. Now, Mother Magic offers you a gift, a new set of abilities that will help you in your calling.**

“Abilities?”

**You will see.** She paused for a moment and then added. **But for now, our time is at an end.**

Percival could feel something tugging at his mind, drawing him out of the peaceful forest and back into the real world. As the blue forest faded from his mind, he heard one final statement.

**I look forward to meeting you out in the world; My Paladin.**


	3. Rescue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Percival is rescued from Grindelwald's prison...

Percival emerged from his vision with Pelles’ final words echoing through his mind.

 _My Paladin._ It sounded like something out of _Le Morte d’Arthur_.

The transition from light – however blue – back to dark had him feeling a bit disoriented. The loss of engagement had his senses scrambling to readjust to their limited environment.

As he allowed his senses to acclimate, Percival noted that there were no signs that things had changed during his time in Pelles’ spirit realm.

The cot on which he lay was still thin and full of lumps.

The foul stench of the necessity still reeked, assaulting his sensitive nostrils. This was despite the stasis and scent-blocking charms that Grindelwald had placed early on in Percival’s captivity. Without any real outlet, even the best charms were going to fail, and the ones that the blonde bastard had placed were hardly the best. All Grindelwald cared about was making certain that he didn’t have to smell it during their sessions together.

The stock of food and other supplies, stacked in the corner of the space opposite from the necessity, also appeared unchanged. The mound, which contained barely enough to last another week, had not increased, decreased, or been otherwise, moved.

He frowned. _What, then, pulled me out?_ He wondered.

Of course, as soon as he had the thought, the answer appeared.

A sudden, brilliantly white flash burst through the opaque front wall of his prison, rendering him momentarily blind. As Percival blinked rapidly, trying to clear his eyes, another sense was triggered by a change. Instead of the usual silence, he could now hear the sounds of voices from outside the space. They were raised enough to penetrate the barrier that muffled sounds from the world beyond his cell.

Focusing his senses to their limit, Percival was able to make some sense of the sounds as well as the shadows that impinged on the clock face. 

It seemed that the apartment had been invaded by a number of... _presumably..._ witches and wizards. With his eyes focused on the clock face, Percival could make out their shapes as they moved about the room. When he strained his ears, he could hear snatches of muffled conversation, mainly exclamations or orders.

“…spread out…”

“…over there…”

“Watch out for traps, Collins!”

“…he’s still alive?”

“Stay on your toes, people…”

To his shock, Percival realized that he recognized the voices. _It was his team!_

From the snippets that he could make out, it sounded like they were conducting a standard search and seizure on the dwelling of a dangerous, captured criminal.

_In my apartment?_

_Does that mean?_

_Could it be?_

_Has Grindelwald’s ruse finally been discovered?_

As his heart rate increased, Percival did his best to remain realistic. Even if Grindelwald had been unmasked, Percival’s current residence was well-hidden. There was no guarantee that the searchers would find it, or him. Instead, he could end up trapped in here forever; dying of starvation once his supplies ran out.

 _Merlin bless, let that not happen,_ he thought as he let out a sigh. To his sensitive ears, it seemed to echo in the limited space.

Percival fought the urge to scream, slam himself against the clock face, or otherwise flail about. He had tried that before when Grindelwald had entertained visitors.

When there had been no reaction to his attempt, he had realized that the dimensional nature of the prison meant that the barrier was one-way. Nothing he did would make it out into the larger world.

So, Percival forced himself to sit quietly. There was no point in wasting his limited reserves.

Percival waited for what felt like an eternity before anything significant happened.

By that point, he had succumbed to his urges and had begun to pace before the clock face.

There had been several false ‘alarms’ as the MACUSA team located various hidden caches or artefacts that were scattered throughout his apartment. But this time, it seemed that they had finally located the right one. This time, the exclamation had come from right outside Percival’s clock prison.

“Over here!” The shadow blocking the light shining into Percival’s cell called out. The sound was enough to stop his pacing in its tracks. He froze, desperately hoping for good news.

Within moments, several additional shadows came into view. No doubt, the rest of the team had come over to the original searcher’s side. From the flashes of color that Percival spotted at the edge of his vision, it seemed that they were casting spells.

Percival crossed his fingers. _Mercy Lewis, please let them figure it out. They are SO close._

As flashes began to penetrate into his prison, Percival forced himself to retreat away from the entry. He stepped back into the depths of his cell, taking up a seat on his lumpy cot. The move lowered his profile to the outside.

 _It would be just my luck for one of my trigger-happy subordinates to manage to kill me while trying to free me,_ he thought wryly, black humor hard at work. _They managed to be taken in by my double for all this time, after all._

Finally, the clock prison door opened, letting in a wash of light and sound. The assault on his senses was overwhelming in its intensity. Percival clasped his hands over his ears and squinted through watery eyes towards the intruders who came storming into the space.

“Sir!”

The cry, coming as it did from multiple voices, was several decibels above and beyond any of the earlier noises. Though Percival managed to keep himself from crying out in pain, he couldn’t help but curl into himself in an attempt to block out some of the clamor. Through the shelter of his arms and legs, he could tell that those above him were speaking. However, his overwhelmed mind simply could not handle the influx of intense stimuli.

Someone touched his arm, and he flinched, instinctively. He wasn’t sure if it was because of the intensity of the sensation or the shock of a non-harmful touch after all of Grindelwald’s abuse. His reaction, unsurprisingly, sparked another bout of the cacophonous noise.

At that moment, Percival was so overwhelmed that he couldn’t do anything but remain curled up on the cot. Thus, it was a relief when he caught a glimpse of the red light of a stunner right before it struck him square on. With the impact, everything finally went black.

When Percival awoke and opened his eyes, the first thing that his brain registered was… white.

From the ceiling above his bed to the walls, the floor, even the bedding and clothing that he wore; everything was a startlingly bright white. It was a direct contrast to the dull and grungy tones in the dimensional prison where he had been held.

It took Percival a moment to realize where he must be.

This was the containment ward at St. Brigid’s; a space set aside for patients quarantined from the general hospital population. Quarantine could be used for any of a number of factors: a patient with a contagious illness, protective custody, injured prisoners, depressed immune systems, etc.

As a result, Percival had made many visits to the white ward during his years of service at MACUSA.

In the past, he’d always been the one coming in to visit. Now, for the first time, he was on the other side.

_But what is the reason that I am here?_

_Have I been cursed with some illness?_

_Or am I considered to be a criminal in custody?_

Percival’s thoughts ran in circles, coming up with all sorts of dire scenarios. A glance down at his wrists, which were sitting atop the sheet, didn’t help matters. He still bore the magic suppressing bracelets that Grindelwald had used to help keep him a prisoner.

_Am I considered an accomplice to the villain, in custody under MACUSA jurisdiction?_

_Or,_ and this thought made Percival shiver with horror, _what if they couldn’t get the bracelets off?_

_What if I am stuck like this, without my magic permanently._

Fortunately for Percival, before he could spiral into a full-blown panic attack, his racing thoughts were interrupted by something coming from outside. His ears had caught the sound of footsteps coming down the hall. Through the door, he could hear that there were three people approaching.

The first footsteps were fairly soft, a measured tread. Those probably belonged to the Mediwitch or Mediwizard assigned to his case.

The second set of steps was firm, with careful placement of each foot. They were the footsteps of a battle-trained Auror or bodyguard.

But the third, the third were sharp and familiar, and easy for Percival to identify.

“Sera,” Percival murmured under his breath. A moment later, the woman herself swept into the room.

President Seraphina Picquery was the picture of poise and elegance. She was gowned in formal robes of rich brown and gold, with her platinum curls perfectly pinned under her deep purple turban.

Behind her trailed a darkly-suited man, a wizard in the Secret Service, as well as a witch in mint green robes.

“Excellent, you’re finally awake,” Sera said brusquely but kindly.

Meanwhile, the Mediwitch pushed past her to come over to Percival’s side. The hovering witch then began a series of diagnostic spells, following what Percival knew was normal hospital protocol.

As she did so, Sera continued to speak. “Now then, I believe that you owe me a report, Director.”

“Madame President,” the Mediwitch interrupted. “The patient has just awoken from a stun-induced coma after an extended period of imprisonment and torture. You should not excite him.”

“Nonsense,” Seraphina Picquery responded, drawing herself up formally. “If I know my Director, and I do, he will not be able to relax and heal without a proper debrief, first.”

Percival gave his old friend a smirk, acknowledging the accuracy of her statement. The Mediwitch sighed but ceased her protest.

“Madame President,” Percival began speaking. But before he could continue he had to break off. He let out a hacking cough to clear his throat. It had been days since he had last spoken, not counting the time spent unconscious. Worse, the last time sound had left his throat hadn’t been speaking at all, but rather screaming from Grindelwald’s torture.

Frowning, the hovering Mediwitch offered him a glass of clear water and glared at him until he drank it. When he finished, he found that the soothing water had been enough to ease his throat. Now he could speak. 

“Right,” he said, his voice roughened by his captivity. “Madame President, it is with great regret that I must inform you that I was ambushed and taken prisoner by the Dark Lord Gellert Grindelwald on -----, at which time he imprisoned me inside of my own home. If you have had any interactions with me since that time, it was actually Grindelwald under a personally enhanced Polyjuice regimen.”

Percival shifted and then winced as the movement pulled at the still healing wounds on his back. He was unsurprised to note that the Healers had been unable to reverse the damage as yet. After all, the lashes had been applied using powerful Dark Magic. Besides, Percival’s innate magic was still bound and unavailable to help the healing process.

He saw Sera frown in sympathy, and that expression was enough for him to keep going. “Since that date, Grindelwald has kept me locked in his makeshift prison, using a combination of curses, threats, and,” here Percival held up his still shackled hands, “-suppression cuffs to keep me under control. He further forced me to provide the information necessary for him to maintain his ruse as my doppelganger.”

At the sight of the cuffs on Percival’s wrists, Seraphina started. “And why is Director Graves still wearing those cuffs?” she asked the Mediwitch, furious on his behalf.

“Pardon me, Madame President,” the Mediwitch responded sharply, “but the cuffs cannot be removed without the subject being conscious, and, as you know, you were in too much of a hurry to give us a chance to do so before now.”

Deep inside his mind, Percival breathed a sigh of relief at the good news.

At the same time, the President nodded her acceptance of the Mediwitch’s explanation.

“Fine,” she nodded at Percival, wordlessly asking him to continue.

“The last time that I saw Grindelwald was four days before I was retrieved from my cell. He mentioned something about an Obscurial and a No-Maj woman named Barebone?”

Here Percival trailed off, hoping to get a bit of information in exchange for his own report.

Sera waved her hand as if dismissing Percival’s verbal concern. “That matter has already been handled. The investigator assigned to the case may ask you more detailed questions later, but for now, let us focus on what happened next.”

“Yes, Madame President,” Percival said drily. He understood that Sera had to compartmentalize, but it was still a bit irritating to be kept in the dark. “I do not know exactly what happened when the Aurors managed to get into my cell; I just know that it was as if all of my senses were boosted. They were providing too much information for my brain to handle. Whoever hit me with that stunner deserves a commendation. It really was the best choice, given the situation.”

Sera nodded. “Indeed. Goldstein’s ready wand has already been recognized. Now then, turnabout is fair play.”

She gave a small smile. “Grindelwald’s impersonation was discovered…” she paused, as if counting the days, and then continued, “nearly a week ago, when he tried to start a fight between us and the No-Majes here in New York City. Thankfully, we have been able to keep things contained. All No-Majes involved have had their memories modified.”

Then she frowned. “Unfortunately, we were unprepared to properly hold Grindelwald. He had helpers waiting in the wings, including at least one member of your staff, possibly more. As a result, he escaped less than twenty-four hours after his capture. Indeed, we’ve already heard rumors that he’s been spotted in Continental Europe.”

“However, Grindelwald’s comments while he was still in custody indicated that there may be something hidden in your apartment. While we assumed that it was likely just your dead body, I decided to send a team in to check things out anyway. They were the ones who managed to find and free you, before bringing you here.”

She waved a hand around, indicating the room. “So far, we’ve managed to keep Grindelwald’s involvement in recent events quiet, along with his impersonation of you. MACUSA’s public would be in a panic if they knew everything, as you well know.”

Percival nodded, relieved. Apparently his presence in the ward was for security/publicity reasons, the best-case scenario, really. He had no doubt that he would be ‘in custody’ until he was properly cleared and checked for any loyalty to the monster, but at least he wasn’t being treated like a criminal. He could handle this.

“Now then,” Sera continued, clearly having been speaking as he was thinking, “while the disaster is over I am still dealing with clean-up. So, I will leave you in the hands of the staff here at St. Brighid’s. Do your best to get better, Percy. I need my right hand and Director back at my side.”

“Yes, Madame President,” Percival replied with a nod, an abbreviated version of the bow that he normally gave. Her lips quirked a small smile in response, before President Seraphina Picquery swept out of the room, her bodyguard following closely behind.

“Right,” Percival said, turning to the Mediwitch, “now, can you please get these,” he shook his wrists, making the bracelets shift and clink, “off me.”


	4. Recovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Percival discovers the extent of the changes caused by his kidnapping and imprisonment...

Over the next couple of weeks, Percival struggled to re-adjust to the world outside of his cage. At the same time he, with the help of an entire team of healers, began the long process of recovery from his ordeal.

Besides the various hospital staff, Seraphina Picquery was only the first of many visitors to disturb his recovery. Ramirez, the Senior Auror assigned to the Grindelwald investigation, stopped by on the first day a few hours after Sera’s visit.

“It’s good to see you awake, sir. My team feared the worst; especially after your collapse.”

Carmen Ramirez was a petite woman of Hispanic descent whose compact frame disguised a Magical powerhouse of an Auror. A former protégé, she was one of Percival’s favorite subordinates; a fighter who he trusted at his back. Not only was she a strong duelist, but she also had excellent skills as an investigator. In particular, she had an excellent grasp of Magical/No-Maj relations, the details of which eluded many.

As a result of her competence, Carmen had been assigned as Senior Auror for MACUSA’s Boston field office for years. While Percival was certain that she would have realized that there was a faux Graves around sooner if she had been in New York, there was a certain benefit to her absence. The fact that she was based elsewhere meant that she could serve as a neutral investigator in the aftermath. Officially, this was the reason that Ramirez had returned to her old stomping grounds in New York City.

Unofficially, of course, Percival knew that the investigation was the president and other government leaders’ opportunity to evaluate her as his replacement. Carmen had been a top contender on Percival’s list for his successor as Director of Magical Security, though he had not expected the change to happen so soon. But, given what had happened with Grindelwald, it was certainly possible. To be honest, Percival wasn’t sure that he would return to his old job, even if it was offered.

Regardless, Ramirez’s first act after having her team do a preliminary inspection of the department’s offices at the Woolworth Building was the raid on Percival’s apartment. This act, resulting as it did in his rescue, had further endeared her to him.

“I appreciate the consideration, Ramirez,” he said in reply to her earlier comment. “Your team did an excellent job of locating my prison so efficiently.”

Percival’s words startled Ramirez.

“How did you know, sir?” She asked. “According to the report that I received the cage was completely isolated from the outside world.”

Percival raised an eyebrow, apparently unfazed, though inside he was reeling. It was true that when he had first been incarcerated he’d found himself in a dark and silent space, but by the time that he was freed that had changed. He had begun to see shadows through the clock face that marked the front of the cage at all times by the end, even when the external light was relatively dim. Truth be told, it had grown to be more opaque than solid to his vision.

A similar thing happened with his hearing. He had found that the cage’s boundary acted more as a dampener than a true block for sound by the time that he had been rescued.

“Spend enough time in a space like that… and your senses adjust.”

“Ah.”

“Yes. I haven’t discussed it with the healers yet, but I think that was what set me off when your team arrived. My senses were turned up to maximum because I was trying to figure out what was happening outside. I had to do the reverse whenever Grindelwald visited. It was only by pushing everything down that I was able to endure his torture.”

Ramirez winced. “I’ve got the healers’ preliminary report here. Though you were unconscious, they could run a basic physical diagnostic. In the report, they mentioned superficial and severe wounds of various ages, signs of Magical and non-Magical torture over the course of multiple sessions.” She paused and then added. “Just how bad was it, sir?”

Percival sighed. “Let’s just say that my experiences during the Great War were like the slice of an athame in comparison.”

“Ah.”

“Indeed.”

The awkward silence stretched for a moment, as neither of them quite knew what to say next. Finally, Ramirez spoke.

“It would be of great help to my investigation if you could write down everything that you can recall Grindelwald mentioning during his visits. We’re having difficulty tracking down all the damage that he did, both in terms of traps and false records as well as the people that he suborned to varying degrees. That Wizard has truly dangerous levels of Charisma and is a skilled manipulator. We’ll be years rooting out the infestation that he left.”

“I see.” Percival handed over a scroll. “I’ve already written up a summary, but I’ll work on fleshing it out.”

“Thanks for this,” she replied. Then she added. “This investigation is already driving me up the wall. Being here in New York, easily accessible for the politicians…” She shuddered. “I thought that I wanted to be Director, but now I’m not so sure. At the very least I’m not ready to take the job yet. So you’d best hurry up and get better. I need you as a buffer from the politics, sir.”

Percival shook his head, wryly, as she shuddered delicately. “Indeed. Politics are the worst part of the position, Ramirez. Still, you are certainly capable of doing this job.” He gave her a smirk.

As Ramirez turned to leave, Percival sighed. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to step back into the Director position, especially given the circumstances. Right now he had more important things to worry about. Like recovering and trying to solve the puzzle of his mysterious vision.

In terms of his physical health, Percival was pleased to find that his body was ready and willing to recover from the abuse that it had suffered.

On orders from the healers, he was served a diet full of basic, hearty foods in increasing quantities: meat, bread, vegetables. While they were hardly palate-challenging, the hospital meals were a direct contrast from what Percival had been eating.

While in Grindelwald’s custody, Percival had been provided the bare minimum for survival; water, and unflavored porridge. These starvation-level rations had been enough to keep the captive wizard alive, but the lack of proper nutrition had still taken a toll. In just a few months, he had gone from being a healthy, physically active man to a gaunt skeleton of skin-and-bones.

Starvation of his captive had served Grindelwald in two ways. For one, it decreased the frequency and amount of supplies that he had to stock. For two, it was another piece in the effort to break Percival. Without proper feeding, Percival lacked the strength to put up any kind of physical fight. He just didn’t have the strength or stamina to do battle, not anymore.

The lack of proper nutrients had also slowed the healing of the various injuries that Percival had sustained as a part of Grindelwald’s interrogations. The healers were concerned that some of the damage might be irreversible. In fact, they had already had to vanish several of Percival’s bones, which had been broken and then allowed to heal wrong. While Skelegro was an amazing potion, it had still led to several miserable and uncomfortable nights as his damaged bones were vanished and then encouraged to grow back.

Then there were the numerous surface cuts and burns that covered Percival’s skin.

“We are doing our best to heal the scars, but the Dark Magic from the curses that were used has become entrenched in your skin. It is making things more difficult to manage,” the hospital’s curse damage specialist admitted reluctantly. “There is a good chance that the scars will be permanent.”

In response, Percival just sighed. He was not surprised at this news. After all, he had already collected a number of ‘fun’ scars from his time in the Auror corps and fighting in the Great War. These new marks would simply be yet another addition. It’s not like he was anyone’s idea of a good catch, anyways, and scars would not prevent him from working.

“I understand. You will be able to seal them, though, right? I won’t be stuck with permanent open wounds?”

“No, we should be able to do that much. You may end up with some increased sensitivity to temperature and touch, but our preliminary tests look promising.”

“Tests?”

“Yes. It is common practice in this field to create artificial bodies, non-living homunculi, to use for testing purposes. We try out any treatment to several homunculi, tweaking as needed before we use it on the actual patient. So far, we have had excellent luck with our tests. However, it seems that the longer that the damage has gone untreated the more difficult it is to repair.”

“And I have several wounds that are months old.”

The healer nodded.

“And the nerve damage?”

That question made the healer wince. “As you know, the Cruciatus is classed as one of the Darkest of curses. There are many reasons for that, but one is the fact that the damage done by it has been found to be incurable. We have had some luck in developing potions to temporarily reduce or eliminate the spasms, but even those successes treat the symptoms but do not repair the damage.”

“As I expected,” Percival said with a sigh. “I suppose I should be grateful that Grindelwald needed me able to answer questions, not just serve as a source of genetic material. He could have easily left me insensate. All he would have had to do was leave the Cruciatus in place a bit longer.”

The oddest parts of Percival’s physical recovery, however, were the intermittent sensory incidents that occurred.

With some incidents, one or more of his senses would ramp up or down in sensitivity. When they ramped up, Percival could overhear a conversation happening through multiple layers of walls (e.g. a man arguing with his wife about placing a block on their child’s accidental magic). Or he could start picking up scent traces that the Healers brought in from outside (e.g. the contents of their breakfast). Or, he could be thrust into darkness as the hospital room’s color faded from a brilliant white to a dim, dark grey.

Then there were the sensory glitches, or so he called them.

These glitches happened when one of his senses was triggered by an unusual stimulus. Such stimuli were usually associated with one or more sense memories from his past. When he was triggered, Percival’s entire focus would compress onto that one thing, leaving him in an entirely vulnerable state.

Indeed, breaking this fugue state required intercession from another person, and even then it didn’t always work right away. The worst time was when he caught a whiff of Grindelwald’s preferred cologne on the robe of one of the healers, a scent that was similar but subtly different from his own preferred product.

In that case, it took one of the projective empaths down in the mental ward to break his mind loose from its fugue.

It was beyond frustrating.

Thus, when Percival once again found himself in the strange blue forest nearly two weeks after his first awakening in the hospital, he was already in a foul mood.

He had had another incident that very evening, this one triggered by a discussion between two of the Aurors on shift guarding the ward where Percival was staying. They were discussing whether or not Percival had been ‘turned’ by Grindelwald during his captivity, unaware that with his ‘special’ senses he could hear the entire conversation.

The conversation had made him flashback to one particular torture session. During the session, Grindelwald had delivered a monologue about his plans for Percival after his business in America was complete. One suggestion was turning him into a double agent by cursing him into obedience. The thought was so anathema to Percival that he’d managed to break free of the _Petrificus_ that Grindelwald had applied long enough to get one solid punch in before he was subdued.

This time, Percival had been brought out of his fugue by the Mediwitch doing her evening rounds. Although the time spent in fugue wasn’t more than a few minutes, it was still a reminder to Percival of his body’s continued betrayal.

The forest was still beautiful, just as Percival remembered from his last visit, but this time Percival hardly noticed. Instead, he was focused on other matters. He rapidly made his way through the wooded landscape, making his way back to the clearing. 

_This time he would get a more concrete answer from that dratted bird._

Pushing his way through one final collection of bushes, Percival emerged into the sunny clearing with mussed clothes and hair. As he brushed the forest detritus from his coat, absently thankful that he was dressed in proper clothing instead of the casual hospital pajamas that he was currently sporting in the real world, he spotted his massive scavenger companion. She was once again perched on the massive stump at the heart of the clearing.

 **Welcome back, my Paladin,** she said in his mind. 


	5. Searching

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Percival gets some answers, and starts a search...

“Good Morning, sir,” Goldstein’s voice was wary as she entered Percival’s room.

Percival hadn’t really known the young Auror before his kidnapping; she was one of the newer members of his team. However, he had heard good things about her from multiple sources. She had managed to impress Ramirez and Picquery, though the latter complained about her lack of political awareness. She had also been the only member of his staff to recognize that his doppelganger was behaving inappropriately, and confront ‘him’. It was that confrontation that had nearly resulted in her execution.

As a result, Percival had been avoiding this meeting for some time. He didn’t quite know how to handle the fact that a person with his face had done such personal harm to the young witch. But now, he had to push past his discomfort.

The reason for Goldstein’s summons came from Percival’s vision the previous evening.

_Despite the strangeness of his surroundings, the main emotion that Percival was feeling at that moment was pure and simple frustration._

_“Let me see if I have this straight. Mother Magic has granted me with these special gifts to help with my assigned mission, but they come with severe built-in weaknesses. To make matters worse, these weaknesses can leave me extremely vulnerable for extended periods of time. Worse still, such weakness may strike without notice, including in the middle of a fight.”_

_It wasn’t possible for a bird to wince, but the mantling of Pelles’ wings was clearly done for much the same reason._

**_I am afraid so, my Sentinel,_ ** _she replied. **The status that you have developed is an inheritance that has been passed down through your family. It is an old gift that Mother Magic first granted to her protectors in ancient times. Those who were chosen to embrace the gift would go through a ritual. It was this ritual which would awaken their gifts for their use. Now, the isolation that your enemy used in your prison was similar enough to the ancient ritual for Mother Magic to hijack. She used the conditions of your imprisonment to awaken you as one of her Guardians, her Sentinels.**_

_“I see. But surely the ancient protectors had some way to control their gifts? They wouldn’t have been very good protectors otherwise.”_

_Pelles’ voice warmed, even as she continued her lecture._

**_Indeed. Once a Sentinel was awakened, they were matched with a partner, a Guide, with whom the Sentinel would bond. Those chosen as Guides usually had some mind talents before bonding, though their skills in this arena were dramatically improved by their bonding. The bond was how the ancient Sentinels were able to control their gifts._ **

_The idea that he might have to depend on another like that had made Percival growl. He couldn’t think of a single Witch or Wizard that he trusted, not to that degree anyway. After all, Grindelwald was a good example of a Wizard with skill at mind magics, and look at what a monster he was._

_As if she had heard his thought, Pelles’ lecture shifted focus._

**_While it is not a full solution, there is one way for you to gain short-term control, even without a partner._ **

_That comment made Percival perk up._

_He didn’t have to bond? Oh, thank goodness._

_“How?” He asked._

**_Through me. Each of Mother Magic’s Sentinels is gifted with a Magical Creature. We are charged as the Sentinel’s spirit guide, helping them to reach their maximum potential._ **

_That sounded infinitely more appealing than bonding with another human. Pelles may be a bit annoying at times, but he would much rather trust her over one of his peers._

_“Really? But how? I mean, I can’t exactly come to this realm every time that I have difficulties.”_

_Pelles’ voice was warm, as she explained._

_**Like all spirit guides, I have a physical form, one that exists beyond this realm. If you can find me out in the waking world, then we can build a physical link and I can be your support.**_

_Now that problem had Percival stumped. After all, he had never seen a scavenger bird quite like Pelles. They certainly weren’t to be found around New York City._

_When he said as much, Pelles made an odd sound with her beak. From the flavor of her mental voice, it was her version of a laugh._

**_Don’t worry, my Paladin, I am closer than you know. Seek out the one who knows the creatures, and you will find me there. Now, it is time for you to return to the waking world._ **

It was this puzzle that had led to Percival’s current visitor.

“Goldstein. Come in.”

The witch, who had been hovering at the door, stepped inside. Percival’s hearing, which had decided to boost itself this afternoon, could make out her heart beating far more rapidly than normal.

Apparently, he made her nervous.

“Do you know why you’re here?”

“Um, no sir. That is, Madame Ramirez instructed me to come to the hospital and report to you, sir.”

Percival smirked. It seemed that Carmen was handling his subordinates well.

“Indeed. Don’t worry, Goldstein, you are not here for punishment.”

Goldstein’s breathing and heart rate calmed a bit but still weren’t back to normal.

“I’m not, sir?”

“No. Indeed, I have received a number of favorable reports about your behavior while I was… away.”

That comment made Goldstein wince. She did also relax further, though, so Percival took it as a win.

“I was sorry to hear what had happened to you, sir…”

“But you were glad to hear that you had not been disobeying your real superior, I assume.”

Percival couldn’t help the gentle needling.

“Sir, I…”

“Do not worry, Goldstein. I have no need to rehash your mistakes. In fact, I asked you to come for an entirely different reason.”

“Sir?”

“I understand from Sera that during the disaster you became acquainted with the Magizoologist Newton Scamander, is that right?”

“Um… yes, I mean, I did work with him briefly, sir.”

“At ease, Goldstein, I do not disapprove. Indeed, I am grateful to the Wizard. He was the one who ultimately unmasked my doppelganger.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“You can drop the sir, Goldstein. Call me Percival. Or, if that is too difficult, you can call me Director or Graves.”

“Yes, Sir… I mean, Director Graves.”

“Now then, back to the reason that I called for you. I am in need of some help from your friend Mister Scamander.”

“Advice, si- Director?”

“Yes, advice, or rather help in identifying a particular Magical Creature. I have been led to believe that he is the authority on such matters. Was I misinformed?”

“Oh no, Director, Newt certainly knows lots about Magical Creatures.” Then she added under her breath, “even ones that shouldn’t be around people.”

Of course, with his hearing boosted, Percival heard her as easily as if she’d shouted.

“In fact, I need to determine the species and location of a specific creature,” he said, ignoring the aside. “I was hoping that your… friend… might be able to help me do so.”

“Newt could probably help, Director. However, he’s already left New York. I could send him a letter, he did leave me with his contact information, but… um, he warned me before he left that he’s not the most reliable about responding to correspondence.”

“I see. Well, then,” Percival held out a sealed letter, one that he had already prepared just in case. “Can you go ahead and pass this along to him. I can only hope that he will do better than expected.”

“Yes, sir – Director. Is there anything else?”

“No, Goldstein. That will be all.”

Percival winced at how fast Goldstein left his room. _He wasn’t that disturbing, was he?_ Still, he supposed that it could be worse. Goldstein didn’t appear to hold his doppelganger’s actions against him and given what she’d endured, well, he wouldn’t have blamed her.

Carmen had been using him as a confidant/advisor throughout her investigations, so he’d read about the horrifically inappropriate execution that his staff had nearly done. The Director of Magical Security did not have the authority to order an execution without approval, but somehow Grindelwald had managed to make his staff believe otherwise. _That would simply not do._ He’d already started working on drafting a set of protocols to prevent such an event in the future.

Percival’s musings were interrupted when his hearing, still above normal, suddenly spiked and triggered a migraine. Scamander had better be the one that Pelles meant, and Percival could only hope that Goldstein’s warnings about the Wizard’s lack of reliability were untrue. This situation was simply… intolerable.


	6. Creatures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Newt goes to South America...

As he carried a basket filled with raw meat over to a spot close to Rosie’s favorite outcropping, Newt couldn’t help his smile. Visiting the Nundu always managed to cheer him up, even on his worst days.

Newt had found Rosie as a cub. She was being held by poachers hoping to use the immature Nundu as either a weapon or source for potions ingredients, which one he never bothered to figure out. The cub had been long separated from her mother – in fact, the poachers claimed to have found her wandering by herself. The absence of Nundu remains in their collection of souvenirs/merchandise would indicate that they had told the truth. Of course, there was no way for Newt to be sure.

After all, it wasn’t like he’d been able to properly interrogate the Wizards who had taken her…

The first time that Newt heard about the poachers’ camp was in a run-down pub in rural Morocco. As was his common practice, Newt had stopped in at the pub upon his arrival in the area. Newt knew that the best way for him to learn of illegal activities involving Magical Creatures was to find the local watering-hole and just listen.

At this particular bar, one of the customers present, when Newt walked inside, was a beat-up adventurer whose hygiene and appearance had both seen better days. Newt approached the barkeep, ordering his customary shot of whiskey. It wasn’t his favorite drink, but it was commonly available and could usually be trusted as safe to drink regardless of location. As Newt waited for his drink, he heard the slurring adventurer say “that damn beast is going to be the death of me, one of these days. Mark my word.”

Sliding into the stool beside the drunk, Newt slid his full drink over to the man, offering it to him. At the same time, he ordered himself another round from the unconcerned bartender.

“Beast?” he asked, mildly, not wanting to rouse the other Wizard’s suspicions.

“Yesh,” the Wizard slurred, “th’ Anubis cursed thing‘s gettin’ big, you know. Don’t know what Abu was thinkin’, takin’ it.” He slid his right sleeve up, revealing a pus-infested rash. “Gave me that with its breath, it did.”

Newt held in his gasp by sheer will. _A Nundu!_

As far as Newt knew, no one had managed to capture one of those deadly animals. Killing one required an entire team of professionals, as the animals were known to shrug off most curses and any close contact during a fight would turn deadly for the hunter as the Nundu’s breath carried an unknown number of diseases.

But it sounded like this drunk’s group had managed to collect an adolescent of some kind.

“Damn thing’s more trouble than th’ rest a th’ beasts, combined.”

Newt gave a sympathetic noise as he raised his glass, prompting the drunk to do the same.

“Sounds like trouble, indeed, friend.”

“Yesh… trouble. If’n it weren’t fer th’ money, I’d be long gone,” the Wizard mumbled. “Abu’d cheat me outta my share, sure ‘s anythin’.”

“Perhaps…” Newt hesitated, as if unsure, “perhaps this Abu is hoping that that the beast might actually kill you. After all, if you’re dead you won’t need to be paid.”

A bit more of talking and several drinks later, Newt managed to pull enough information out of the drunk Wizard. He had learned the location of the man’s camp, as well as the make-up and patrol procedures used by the crew that guarded it.

Leaving his new ‘friend’ to sleep off his overindulgence, Newt headed out into the cliffs nearby. The poachers had cleverly set up in a collection of old ruins, hiding their camp inside the long-abandoned spaces.

With the Intel that he had gained, Newt managed to stun the on-duty guards. He then stunned and bound all of the crew that was on-site before turning his attention to the creatures in captivity.

The animals that Newt found included a couple of badly injured striped hyenas, a small herd of gazelle, a handful of Erumpets and Tebo, a beautiful Phoenix chick, and, as mentioned by the other Wizard, a Nundu cub. Laying claim to both the animals and the poachers’ collection of ill-gained supplies, Newt stowed everything away in his case and left the area before anyone could discover his actions.

Over the weeks and months following that encounter, Newt was able to return most of the creatures that he’d recovered to their native environments, with two exceptions. They were the Nundu cub, who Newt had named Rosie, and the Phoenix, who had informed Newt telepathically that his name was Fawkes. The Phoenix stayed with Newt for a time, until Newt paid a visit to his old Professor and mentor Albus Dumbledore. At the end of his visit, the bird informed Newt that he would be staying with the Professor instead of accompanying the Magizoologist further.

In comparison, Rosie the Nundu quickly established herself as the guardian of Newt’s Menagerie. From the beginning, Newt had found himself drawn to the Nundu cub; a pull that went well beyond his usual empathic need to protect the creatures that he encountered. Indeed, spending time with Rosie felt like going home, like finding a piece of himself that Newt didn’t even know that he was missing.

With time, Newt and Rosie had developed a level of communication beyond what Newt had ever dreamed was possible with a non-telepathic creature. During the mess in New York City, Rosie had rampaged through the case, even attacking Grindelwald in an attempt to get to ‘her’ Newt. If she had managed to get out, she would have laid a swathe of destruction to the city even worse than the one left by the Obscurial, by Credence.

But that was then, and this was now. In the weeks since Newt’s departure from New York, he had managed to restore his Menagerie back to its previous condition. Rosie, of course, had reclaimed pride of place in her jungle enclosure, standing guard over the rest.

Now, Newt and his case were housed in a small cabin, onboard a riverboat that was steaming its way up the Paraguay River on its way to the capital city of the country that held the same name, Asunción.

The journey thus far had been long and tiring. In the beginning, Newt had boarded the SS Caballero, a large ocean steamship, in New York City. Most of the ship’s capacity was taken up with cargo, but Tina had somehow managed to find him a private berth as a passenger on the vessel despite the short notice. This little detail was an absolute necessity for Newt given his frequent trips into the case to care for his creatures. Of course, Newt figured that the arrangements had probably been made through MACUSA. He knew that the government higher-ups wanted him out of their country as soon as possible.

While Newt was disappointed to miss seeing Arizona, there was no real compelling reason for him to travel there without Frank. The Thunderbird, who had vanished from sight over New York City after bringing the rain, would travel through the storms across the country to his homeland. The large distance that he would have to travel was no real obstacle for the magnificent beast. The truth was that large bodies of water – oceans – were the only thing that blocked Thunderbirds from traveling. The types of cloud formations that they preferred to travel inside didn’t occur over such large masses of water.

In his mind, Newt had wished Frank well on his journey as the Thunderbird soared into the skies over Manhattan. The empathic Wizard could feel the Thunderbird’s sheer joy in taking flight after his long captivity. Indeed the bird’s emotions were finally untainted by the sadness that had plagued him during his entire recovery period in Newt’s case.

With the Thunderbird taken care of, Newt’s next mission was in the heart of the war-torn country of Paraguay. He’d heard from one of his contacts, a Wizard named Armando Vargas that a recent incident with a local Dark Wizard had managed to stir up some kind of mysterious winged creature. It seemed that the creature was terrorizing the Wizarding community in the Gran Chaco. Partly associated with the Mennonite community which had settled in that region, the European Wizards and Witches living in the region were unfamiliar with the native wildlife and had immediately jumped to viewing the creature as a threat. It was Newt’s belief that the creature was likely harmless to humans, if he was lucky a Thestral or even a Harpy, and was merely drawn to the site by the bloodshed.

Still, the uncertainty was thrilling. Newt almost bounced as he prepared to climb the ladder back up to the cabin. He had seen Thestrals before while visiting Professor Dumbledore, as Newt’s experiences in the Dragon corps during the Great War had included a first-hand view of death, but not a Harpy.

_What would such a creature be like?_

The S.S. Caballero had managed to take Newt as far as Puerto Madero in Buenos Aires, Argentina before the Wizard was forced to disembark. From there, Newt was able to catch a river steamboat that was preparing to head upriver from the delta of the Rio de la Plato and then follow along first the Paraná and then the Paraguay River until it reached Asunción. From there, Newt would have to hire a local guide to take him into the Gran Chaco.

It was all very exciting.

“Mira! Mira!” The calls came from the bow of the steamboat as Newt made his way out of the cabin. He had been careful to close the case quite securely before leaving and bore his most precious possession tightly in one hand.

“El Puerto!” The deckhands called as they prepared for their arrival.

Finding a spot out of the way of the busy workers, Newt leaned against the wooden railing. Despite the current unpleasantness, the capital city of Paraguay was quite beautiful. It was full of white buildings, including churches, with arches and other design elements that had been imported from Spain and other European nations.

“You have emerged at last, my young friend.” Newt’s absent musings were interrupted by one of the steamboat’s other passengers walking over to his side. Dressed in a white suit, the older man was clearly well off and comfortable with travel. He smiled at Newt and then added. “You are quite the mysterious one, aren’t you?”

“Excuse me?” Newt asked, confused.

“A finely dressed British gentleman, traveling alone, who spends most of his time locked away in his cabin, yet when the crew goes to check on him he claims to be fine. My friend, you are the talk of the vessel.”

That made Newt blush. He was used to going unnoticed and had forgotten how much he would stand out in this part of the world.

“There’s nothing… particularly mysterious about me, I’m afraid. I just prefer to spend my time alone. I’m… well, not the best with… crowds.”

“Not a problem!” the other man exclaimed boisterously. He placed an arm around Newt’s shoulders. “Oh, excuse my rudeness, I never properly introduced myself. I am Hector de la Cruz, and that,” here he gestured towards one of the deck’s benches, where a portly woman in a blue gown and black lace mantilla sat under a parasol, “is my lovely daughter Maria. We are just returning home after visiting family down in Buenos Aires, ourselves.”

“Newt… Scamander…” Newt said as he struggled not to flinch at the sudden contact. He hated it when people touched him without permission.

His companion was oblivious to Newt’s discomfort. “So, what brings you to our fair country, Mister Scamander?”

“Um… well, I have some acquaintances who live in the West, up in the Gran Chaco. They have written, speaking of the beauty of this country and its wildlife, and so I have come to visit.”

“Multó Bueno,” Monsieur de la Cruz exclaimed, “so exciting.”

Before he could further interrogate an uncomfortable Newt, the boat docked. The vessel’s crew lowered the gangplank, and without further ado, Newt rushed to disembark.

Several days later, Newt found himself hiking through the jungles of western Paraguay. His guide, a man who went by Aña after the Guaraní river god, was a local from one of the Muggle villages near the Wizarding community where Newt’s friend Armando lived. Aña arranged passage on a boat from Asunción north along the Paraguay River for a couple of days. Then they split off from the boat and veered west. They were now approaching the region that Newt’s friend had written of, the Gran Chaco.

According to the letters, there had been a recent attempt by a Dark Wizard, a Necromancer, to claim control of the region. The Dark Wizard had been drawn there by the presence of several unique Magical plants that were both rare and useful for Dark Rituals. The Necromancer had been defeated, but not before he and his followers had managed to do significant damage to the land and its Magic.

Shortly after the battle, the rumors began to spread of a massive black-winged creature that had been spotted nosing around the battlefield. The creature appeared to be focused on the regions where the Necromancer and his followers had used Black Magics, and rumor claimed that it was feeding off the blood and other unsavory things left in the ground there.

The local Wizards had tried to chase it off a few times, but it kept coming back.

This was the reason for the invitation. His friend Armando feared that there were those in his community and the surrounding area who would do harm to the creature out of fear and superstition.

Newt was just about to ask the guide how far it was to the Muggle village nearest to his friend’s estate when his ears caught the sound of fighting. He could hear yelling in Spanish and English, as well as a number of hisses and screeches of a bird in pain. Newt immediately raced into action, charging through the jungle with no care for his own well-being. The guide, Aña, was forced to trail behind, grumbling under his breath about ‘crazy Anglos’ as he pushed his way through the undergrowth that Newt in his hurry had disturbed.

When Newt reached the clearing, he blanched in shock. There was an entire posse gathered to one side of the space, apparently a mixed group of Wizards and Muggles since some bore wands and others bore guns and machetes. They all appeared focused on the crumpled form at the other end of the clearing. All that Newt could make out there was a mass of black feathers and blood.

One of the posse was just lifting his rifle in preparation to fire yet another round into the downed creature when Newt arrived. Whipping out his wand, Newt summoned the gun from the man’s hands, preventing the shot. The entire group spun towards Newt, clearly unhappy with his interference.

Their anger turned to confusion when they saw him.

“Quién eres Tú?” One man asked, roughly.

“Um… well, I’m Newt, Newt Scamander, that is. I am a friend of Armando Vargas’, visiting from Britain.”

That name made most of the group scowl.

“You must be a creature-lover like him, then.” Another of the men growled, his English nearly unintelligible under a thick accent. “Wanting to let that,” he waved towards the downed creature, “thing continue to bring death to our community.”

“If I may,” Newt spoke gently, trying to keep from antagonizing the men. “I understand that you do not want the creature around your community. I would be willing to take it off your hands if you will allow me to do so.” He gestured to his case. “I am an expert in the study of Magical creatures, and I am interested in studying unique beasts like your ‘friend’ there.”

He paused for a moment, and then added, “I would be willing to pay a bounty if you would prefer.”

That idea made most of the group cheer up. It was only a few of the die-hard Wizards, likely folks who had been involved in the battle against the Necromancer, that were hesitant.

“Don’t worry,” Newt added, targeting those men, “I have a great deal of experience in dealing with dangerous beasts, including trolls, Nundu, and even…” The final creature that Newt mentioned was a deliberate reference to the animal’s rumored association with Death, “Thestrals.”

It was that final name that clinched it for those hesitant few. They lowered their wands and guns and set about bargaining a price. Wanting to get the creature into his infirmary as quickly as possible, Newt rushed the negotiations. He could only hope that the creature was still living and hadn’t already perished from its injuries.

After a short period, during which his guide had arrived in the clearing and been greeted by some of the other men, the price was settled. Newt pulled out his pouch of money, a mix of both Muggle and Wizarding currency, and handed out the agreed-upon amount.

Having been paid, most of the men headed off, presumably back to their villages. A few waited, chatting idly with Aña while Newt hurried over to load the bird into his case. Since Newt had already shown Aña the case and its Magical properties, he didn’t bother to hide what he was doing. He had been informed by his friend that out here the Statute of Secrecy wasn’t maintained as it was necessary for the communities to work together to survive in the harsh land. Instead, the locals made sure to keep the ‘special’ talents of their neighbors a secret from the central government and outsiders who visited.

“I shouldn’t be too long,” he called to the man. “We can head on to the village after I finish.”

Aña nodded his acceptance, before resuming his conversation. Newt heard a couple of gasps as he swept the creature inside his case, but nothing too dramatic. From there he went ahead and climbed inside, leaving the case open behind him.

“El Mago Loco,” was the last thing that he heard before he crossed the case’s Ward line and the isolation Enchantment activated. It was this Enchantment that kept the expanded space inside separate from the outside world. Once he reached the bottom of the ladder, Newt hurried over to his makeshift creature infirmary and sighed at the broken creature that lay on his table.

“Now then, what can I do for you?”


	7. Healing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Newt helps a Harpy and pays a friend a visit...

Newt stepped away from the table with a sigh, flexing his arms as he did so. It had been several hours since he’d entered the case, and he’d spent the entire time bent over his infirmary table working on his patient.

Taking up his wand, carefully to avoid getting blood on it, Newt absently cast _Tergeo_ over his blood-spattered hands and forearms as he considered the surgery that he’d had to perform.

The bird, which was indeed a Harpy, had been hit with several bullets, resulting in fractures to both wings as well as a couple of nasty gashes across her body. Newt had removed the bullets that hadn’t managed to exit the Harpy’s body, splinted both wings, and generally bandaged up the wounds that covered the poor creature, as well as feeding her several potions and performing a couple of healing spells. He could only hope that his efforts were enough to allow the bird’s natural healing ability to kick in and start the slow road to recovery.

Curiously, when Newt ran a detection spell on the Harpy, he had found traces of a number of rather nasty curses embedded in the Harpy’s wings, including at least one Killing Curse. However, none of the curses appeared to have had an impact. Newt’s hypothesis was that somehow the Harpy’s feathers were spell resistant, particularly against Dark Magic. After all, the only actual spell damage that he’d found on the Harpy had come from a so-called Light hex. The rest of her injuries were done by mundane means.

Newt considered the consequences of his hypothesis as he rather absently levitated his newest patient into one of the patient beds that he had in his infirmary. This round, nest-like structure had layers of cushioning charms in place which would provide support without putting pressure on his patient’s injuries. If this property of the Harpy’s feathers could be accessed without the bird’s presence, it would make the Harpy a prime target for hunters. He could only hope that the Wizarding members of the posse didn’t realize what had happened during their attack.

Once he was satisfied that the Harpy was settled, Newt finished cleaning up the mess that he’d made of the infirmary during his work. As he scoured the blood and other distasteful things from the surfaces and instruments that he had used, Newt sighed. For now, there was nothing more that he could do for his patient. Instead, he simply had to wait.

So, Newt figured that it was time to return to the world outside the case. After setting a monitoring charm to alert him if the Harpy’s condition changed, Newt headed back to the shed that led back to the case’s entrance. When he emerged, he found that Aña had made himself comfortable while waiting for Newt to finish up with his task. Not only had the guide pulled out food and drink for himself, but he had shared with a few of the men from the posse. The group was talking and laughing, clearly enjoying themselves as they sat in the shade of the canopy and drank.

 _Such callousness, to joke while the one who you had attacked was on the brink of death_ , Newt frowned as he thought. He was accustomed to the lack of care shown for those who were not human, but it still disgusted him.

Before he could get around to saying anything, the group noticed his presence. Their laughter trailed off as they eyed his glowering form.

“Village, Senior?” Aña asked, anticipating Newt’s request.

The Wizard gave a sharp nod, before turning to reseal his case. By the time that he had finished, Aña was back on his feet and ready to depart. His friends were still finding their footing, but Newt dismissed them from his thoughts.

As they made their way along what was clearly a hunting trail of some kind, Aña remained quiet. This was in stark contrast to his usual manner. He’d spent the entire trip from Asunción regaling Newt with tales about the country and its wildlife. Clearly, the guide had picked up on Newt’s foul mood and was giving the other man space to fume in silence.

Behind them, Newt could hear the other men noisily stumbling through the terrain. Clearly, they had consumed much more alcohol than his guide, who appeared sober. It looked like they were celebrating the poor Harpy’s presumed demise.

When they reached the village, Newt was unsurprised to see his friend Armando waiting for him.

A middle-aged Wizard of mixed European and Native descent, Armando was one of the many Naturalists who Newt had met during his travels. The first and last time that they had met in person had been four years before when Newt had been investigating the claim of a Lethifold sighting in Venezuela. Armando, who had been nearby visiting friends when the rumors spread of the beast’s attack, had also arrived to investigate. He bumped into Newt when both Wizards were out searching for any signs of the creature’s presence.

In the end, the so-called sighting had proved to be a poorly-planned revenge scheme. It seemed that one of the victim’s enemies had learned of the man’s fear of the creatures and decided to use that fact in an attempted murder. The villain was caught red-handed by the authorities just as he was setting the scene for another ‘creature attack’, this one intended to be fatal.

As Armando had remarked to Newt when they heard the news, “Human attacks are far more common than even the most violent animal ones.”

“Too true,” Newt agreed. Though he tried not to, sometimes he kind of hated his own species.

So, despite his disappointment at not getting to see a previously unseen creature, the trip hadn’t been a waste. Newt had come away with a new correspondent and an invitation to visit Paraguay if he was ever ‘in the neighborhood’.

“Newt, my good man, it is wonderful to see you!” Armando’s smile was genuine if tinged with sadness. Finally, here was someone who agreed with Newt’s feelings regarding the Harpy.

“I am only sorry that you were not able to arrive in time to prevent this afternoon’s unpleasantness.”

Armando glanced behind him at the covered porch of the local tavern, where he had been sitting waiting for Newt to arrive. There were a number of men still seated there, including a couple who Newt recognized as being part of the posse that he had encountered.

“My friends made sure that I was unable to interfere, keeping their plan a secret until it was too late. It is such a shame that fear and prejudice can make fools of otherwise intelligent men.”

Newt nodded but kept his mouth shut. He was unsure if he would be able to hold his tongue once he allowed it to run free, even for a moment. It wouldn’t do for him to spit on Armando’s hospitality by speaking ill of his friends in front of them. Besides, he didn’t want anyone to know that the Harpy was still alive, especially given her weak condition. She couldn’t withstand another attack, even a minor one.

Armando wrapped an arm around Newt, embracing him. Unlike his encounter with the pushy passenger on the steamboat back in Asunción, Newt didn’t mind this contact. He knew that casual touch was a normal part of his friend’s culture, and besides, he could use a bit of physical comfort after the emotional dragon ride that he’d had that afternoon.

As Armando eased his embrace, Newt noticed that Aña was still standing nearby, clearly waiting.

 _Of course,_ Newt thought, _he’s waiting for the rest of his fee._

Happy to pay for good service, Newt reached into his money pouch and handed the money over to his former companion. “Thank you for your services, Aña. You’ve been an excellent guide for the journey.”

The other man nodded and then headed off down a nearby alley. Newt assumed that he must be heading to his home in the village.

In the meantime, Armando had kept ahold of Newt’s shoulder while he carried out his transaction.

“Are you alright with side-along Apparition, mi amigo?” He asked.

Newt shrugged. It wasn’t his favorite method of travel; he much preferred to control his own Apparition. But, given the circumstances, he wasn’t opposed.

“Then, my friend let me bring you… home.” Armando grinned and, without further ado, initiated the trip. Newt clutched his case tightly against his chest as his body compressed to a point, and then stretched back out to full size.

It would be a disaster if his case managed to get splinched during transit. Since splinching usually occurred to extremities or other parts of the body that ‘stuck out’, Newt would bring his case as close to his chest as possible whenever he was side-along Apparated.

Fortunately, Armando was proficient at Apparition, even with a passenger, and they arrived at his estate without incident. Knowing that Newt’s first priority would be his creatures, Armando had set their destination as the walk in front of the Hacienda’s main entrance. This large building was the home of Armando and his wife, as well as several of their children and grandchildren.

The Vargas family ran a successful potion supply business, with both farms and distribution networks across South America and beyond. While Armando and his sons were focused on the farms here in Paraguay, his extended relations were spread across the continent, doing business and making money. Of course, the farm included not just plants, but domesticated animals as well. So Armando, knowing of his friend’s suitcase menagerie, had already set aside space and food supplies for the creatures in one their many outbuildings.

“It’s almost feeding time,” Newt commented as Armando led him through the maze of buildings, “do you want to come down and see what has changed since we last met?”

“But of course,” Armando said genially. “And I can give you a hand with some of the larger animals as well.”

The next couple of days were critical in the Harpy’s recovery, keeping Newt busy. It was only when the bird finally turned a corner around dawn on the second day after his arrival at the Vargas estate that Newt finally had a chance to breathe.

Naturally, he took a break from his work to go on a tour of the Vargas family farm. Newt was impressed with the set-up being used there, as even the animals that were being raised for the slaughter were well treated in life. It was also interesting to notice the interactions between the magical and mundane animals, which were being raised side-by-side throughout the facility.

“Does the mixing cause any differences?” Newt asked, curious.

“Well,” Armando replied, “we’ve had some interesting results from food contamination when the mundane animals manage to consume the magical feed. The animals themselves don’t become magical, but some of their secondary products can be affected.”

“For example, we’ve found that feeding our mundane cattle magical feed yields a fertilizer that is perfect for some of our more finicky species of magical plants. The fertilizer from magical Beasts is too potent for them and carries too much active magic, which can interfere with plant growth. However, the distillation that happens in the cattle guts concentrates the passive magic of the feed without converting it to active magic.”

“Curious.”

Armando laughed. “I’m using polite terms, of course, but you should have heard the discussions around the dinner table during those experiments, my wife had to ban all synonyms for manure. Too many of the younger children had picked up on it, and they are such wonderful mimics when it comes to ‘bad’ words.”

Newt chuckled and agreed. He hadn’t spent too much time around young children himself, but he had certainly seen this happening when he had.

He was just about to respond to Armando when a messenger bird flew up to them. A rather beautiful Chaco owl, its black and white stripes helped it to blend into the shadows from the trees around them.

Fortunately, Newt was wearing his coat at the time. Thus, he had no hesitation in offering up his arm for the bird to land upon. Upon examination, Newt found a shrunken letter secured to the owl’s leg. This was common practice for long-distance correspondence.

Likely the message came from somewhere beyond the local region and had been relayed through the bulk messaging system. Messenger birds were wonderful, but they simply couldn’t cross oceans. Instead, most countries had a central post office where international mail was shipped. From there, one of the office’s birds would handle the final delivery. Indeed, Newt was quite familiar with the practice given his extensive travel experience. He generally tried to stop in at the local post office whenever he was nearby, and pick up any letters that might be waiting for him there.

Unshrinking the letter, Newt was pleased to find that it was from his new friend Tina Goldstein, though he was surprised to hear from her so soon.

 _Was there something wrong with Dougal?_ Newt thought, instantly concerned.

He’d been surprised when the Demiguise had decided to adopt Tina’s bubbly sister Queenie during their visit, but he refused to gainsay any of his creatures when they chose to bond with another. Still, New York City wasn’t the easiest place for a Demiguise to live.

Tina’s letter was brief, informing him that things were well with both her and her sister; though she did mention in passing that Queenie had managed to reconnect with the Muggle Jacob Kowalski despite the Obliviation. She also mentioned that during the investigation into the Grindelwald mess the real Percival Graves had been discovered, surprisingly still alive. That Wizard was the reason that she had written. He had some questions for Newt about creature identification and had asked her to pass a message, aka the second letter enclosed in her missive, along.

Newt was just about to open the letter from Graves when his monitoring charm on the Harpy activated. She was finally awake!

He rushed down into the case, dropping both letters on his bench as he passed through the room on his way. As he did so, Newt dismissed all thought of the letters from his mind. He had much more important things to think about, after all, a new patient/creature to meet.


	8. Empathy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Newt meets a Harpy and a Shaman...

“Hello,” Newt said as he approached the injured Harpy, doing his best to project a feeling of _safety/welcome_ as he did so.

The Harpy stirred a bit, as if uncertain of her safety, before settling back into the nest where she lay. Now, Newt didn’t know for sure that the Harpy was female, but his empathy was usually correct in these matters.

As if reading his thought, the Harpy returned Newt’s projection quite effectively. It wasn’t quite verbal communication, but the creature was able to project a surprisingly complex series of emotions.

There was a _greeting/friend?_ Then a sense of _gratitude,_ followed by a sense of decreasing pain, representing healing. Finally, there was a sense of _hope,_ as if the Harpy was asking if her location was safe.

“Yes,” Newt spoke as if the bird could understand, doing his best to project as he did so. Projective empathy was not his strong point, he was much better at receiving the emotions of the beings with whom he interacted. Still, the bird seemed to be picking up his projections. “This is my home, a Sanctuary for creatures in need. You need not fear for your safety while you stay here, and you are welcome to stay for as long as you need.”

The sense of _gratitude_ was once again projected, followed by what Newt believed was the emotional equivalent of _I understand._ Pleased at his success in communication, Newt moved onward.

“Now, I’d like you to stay in this space for the short term. You need time to heal before it is safe for your body to move. In the meantime, is there anything that you need? More water? Medicine for pain? Adjustment to your nest?”

Based on her earlier responses, Newt was convinced that she was able to at least partly understand human speech. It wasn’t really that surprising, after all, given the fact that many Magical creatures were the same.

Sure enough, with each of Newt’s questions, he got a clearly projected _no._ Then she surprised him. This time she initiated the topic of discussion. She gave a projection that was clearly meant to be Newt, and then a question mark? It took the Wizard a moment to translate, but once he did so, he laughed.

“Who am I? My name is Newt Scamander.”

In response, the Harpy projected the sense of _self,_ and then an odd sense. It felt a bit like someone tugging at Newt’s arm, asking him to follow them.

“Follow…? No… Guide…? Your name is something like Guide? Shall I just call you that then?”

Guide projected an affirmative.

“Got it.”

The next projection that Newt received from Guide was unequivocal. _Tired._

It seemed that Newt’s first session with an awake Guide was at an end.

Resetting the monitoring charm, Newt headed back out of the case to pass the good news on to Armando.

To his surprise, the local Wizard was not alone. He had been joined by a pair of what looked to be native inhabitants of the region. Dressed in traditional local clothing, including face and body paint, they had clearly just arrived. Indeed, given the design of their wardrobe, Newt wondered if this was their first time in a Western settlement.

“Newt!” Armando called, apparently relieved by his arrival. “This is Mbopí, a Shaman of the Chopec tribe. He claims to have been summoned here by la muerte oscura, the dark death.”

That news made Newt smile. He had wondered if anyone local would be familiar, even friendly, with the Harpy, and it seemed that his hopes had been met. He bowed before speaking.

“It is wonderful to meet you Mbopí. I am Newt Scamander, from the land of England, but you can simply call me Newt.”

He waited for a response and was surprised when instead of the native speaking; Armando began to translate his words into the local Spanish/Guaraní pidgin.

 _Of course_ , Newt realized, _the man must not understand English_.

From the look on Mbopí’s face, Newt was pretty sure even Armando’s language was foreign to the other man. Mbopí looked down at his companion, a prepubescent child that if Newt had to guess he’d say was about ten. Unlike his elder, the child had clearly followed Armando’s speech, and yet another translation was done.

In his head, Newt groaned. _A double translation? This was going to take forever._

When the child finished speaking, his elder’s face lit up in understanding. He bowed to Newt in return, causing the feathers in his headdress to shake. Newt spotted a single Harpy feather present among the collection, its glossy black color quite distinct among the lighter colored feathers.

After a great deal of back and forth, the situation was finally made clear to Newt. It turned out that the Chopec lived in a remote part of the country, and had little to no interaction with the newer settlers. Instead, they lived in much the same way that they had done for centuries, a tribal system that had been mostly phased out across the continent.

While magical talent was rare among the Chopec, it did occasionally pop up. Those with magic in that community typically came in two flavors, the Guardian protectors who defended them from physical attacks, and the Shamans, who protected the Spirits of the Tribe. Mbopí, along with the boy Incacha who was his apprentice, was one of the latter.

During a recent visit to what he called the Spirit Realm, but sounded like some kind of meditative state to Newt, the Harpy had appeared to him. She had told him to seek out the ‘animal man’, who was to bring her to her destined companion. Mbopí was to act as a Paré, a messenger, and tell Newt of the rites of the Chopec’s Guardian Protectors. The Harpy, who Mbopí called Areba, claimed that Newt would need the information in the near future.

With a bit of help from Armando’s staff, Mbopí was able to provide Newt with an entire journal full of notes about the Guardians and their needs. In exchange, all he asked for was a chance to visit Areba in person and confirm her status.

Of course, Newt was delighted to show off his Menagerie to those who showed the proper appreciation for the non-human. He watched as Mbopí conducted an entire conversation with the still convalescent Harpy Guide/Areba, while Newt himself was only able to catch a small fraction of the emotional projections being sent.

Incacha’s awe and delight at Newt’s creatures, especially a clingy Pickett, helped to ease Newt’s slight feeling of jealousy. After all, he was the one who had rescued the Harpy, not the older man! Wanting to distract himself from such negative emotions, Newt left the older Chopec and the Harpy alone to finish their conversation while he gave the boy a more extensive tour of the other habitats. Incacha, who had never left Paraguay, was just as fascinated by the different environments that Newt had in the case as he was by the animals and his exclamations of excitement were just what Newt needed. The pair was in Newt’s shed, examining a sample of frozen Ashwinder eggs that he had stored there when Mbopí rejoined them.

In their native tongue, he began chivying the boy towards the case’s entrance. Clearly, it was time for Newt’s visitors to head out. As he obeyed his master, Incacha happened to bump into one of the benches and knock a document off its surface. Picking it up, he offered it to Newt with a “Disculpe,” before darting up the ladder.

Glancing down, Newt realized that the document was the letter from Percival Graves, which he had set aside earlier. Slitting it open with a handy knife, he opened it and began to read.

“To Newt Scamander, Magizoologist,” the letter began. “It may seem strange for me to write to you, as we have never actually met, though we do have a number of acquaintances in common. As Goldstein has no doubt informed you, your efforts in unmasking the villain Grindelwald also had the additional benefit of freeing me from his torturous imprisonment. I will not bore you with the details of my unfortunate experience, but rather I write to you because of an unusual series of dreams, or perhaps visions, that have been one of the consequences of my imprisonment.”

“In these visions, I have encountered a strange bird, black as night…”


	9. Meetings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Queenie meddles, and Newt and Percival finally meet...

It had been three months since Percival had written to the Magizoologist, Newt Scamander, about his mysterious Spirit Guide Pelles. In that time, he’d finally managed to escape from the constricting bounds of St. Brigid’s secure Ward and return to work. Thanks to his injuries from his imprisonment, some of which were permanent, and his rebelling senses, Percival was forced to make some changes in his job. Besides, while MACUSA had kept the level of Grindelwald’s infiltration into his department a secret from the general public, it was still known among the higher levels of the government.

Thus, there was a certain level of distrust for anyone associated with the New York City office, and Percival in particular. In an effort to combat that, Percival had convinced Seraphina to allow him to hire an Assistant Director, who would be the head of the New York office while Percival focused more on larger-scale matters like coordinating the branch offices and dealing with international affairs. Having such an excellent job in the Grindelwald investigation, Carmen Ramirez was a perfect choice for his Assistant Director.

Though she grumbled a bit about the move, Carmen was happy to be close to her extended family, who lived in the city. Besides, being Assistant Director was all of the things that the witch enjoyed in the director position, with almost none of the annoying politics. Of course, everyone knew that the position was also a way to prepare Carmen for eventually taking on the Director position.

It was Carmen who took an eager Tina Goldstein under her wing, offering to mentor the young Auror. Tina gratefully accepted and was fast becoming an excellent part of Percival’s department as Carmen helped to polish off her rough edges. She was quite busy working and training in investigations and other important skills that an experienced Auror needed to know.

But it was Tina’s sister Queenie that had made the biggest difference in Percival’s day-to-day life.

On Percival’s first day back at MACUSA he fell into one of the weird fugue states that his enhanced senses occasionally dropped on him. This one occurred as he was standing in the elevator heading up to his office. He had locked in on the sound of the Woolworth’s central clock chiming the hour. Fortunately, before anyone but Red the elevator operator could notice his odd stillness, a hairy ape with large, luminous eyes and fine silvery hair appeared in the elevator. It claimed Percival’s hand, standing with him as if it was being escorted by the Wizard, and distracted all of the other passengers until the next time that the elevator opened.

When it did so, Queenie came rushing inside, her curls all mussed and her clothing a bit rumpled. She sighed in relief when she spotted the creature.

“Dougal!” she cried. “What are you doing here? You’re supposed to stay at home while I go to work.”

Then she paused, “Oh… I see…”

With a distracting twitch of her hips, she sauntered over to the odd pair. As she bent down to pick up the Demiguise, taking him into her arms like a child, she brushed a hand across Percival’s own exposed wrist.

“Awake, Sentinel,” she murmured, her voice pitched low enough to be inaudible for anyone without enhanced hearing.

With a start, Percival was pulled out of the fugue. He was adept enough to hide his confusion as he looked down at the woman and animal before him.

“I’m Queenie Goldstein, remember Sir; Tina’s sister. We had a meeting scheduled.”

Percival knew that her statement was patently untrue, but was wise enough not to disagree. Offering her his arm, he escorted the adorable blonde witch out of the elevator and down the hall to his office.

Once inside, he withdrew his arm quickly and turned to face her.

“What was that, madam?” He asked formally.

“Oh, don’t worry, sweetie, I won’t tell a soul.” She paused for a moment and then added. “You have an excellent shield; by the way, I am only picking up a few of your surface thoughts, and even then only the ones that you deem unimportant.”

She gave a brilliant smile before continuing. “I’m a natural Legilimens, you see, I just can’t help it.” Her countenance grew sad. “Unfortunately Grindelwald is an even better Occlumens than you, Mister Graves, and since you have always been hard to read I couldn’t tell the difference. I also had never spent any time in close contact with you in the past.”

“So then, why are you here, Miss Goldstein?”

“Oh, call me Queenie, sweetie. It’s Dougal. He’s insisting that I’m needed to help you.”

“Dougal?”

Queenie shifted the Demiguise in her arms. “Dougal. He’s my companion. Newt introduced us. We have a special bond, one that lets us communicate. My Legilimency doesn’t usually extend to animals, but with Dougal, I can have entire conversations inside our minds. He’s really quite clever, you know, especially at figuring out what people need.”

“And how do you think you can help?”

“Oh, well, I guess it’s like what happened in the elevator. I don’t think I can stop such things from happening, but I can bring you back, quickly too.”

That idea made Percival stop and think. He’d been worried about how he could deal with the fugues in the short term while he waited for the Magizoologist to get back to him, and here was the perfect solution.

“Excellent idea, Miss Goldstein. You are a part of the Secretarial pool, correct?”

“Yes, Sir.” Her intonation on the title was much less respectful and much more… cheeky… than her sister’s.

“Well then,” he pulled a form from the collection on his shelves. “I shall put in a request for a secretary to be assigned to me permanently due to the shift in my responsibilities as Director. Do you anticipate any difficulty in ensuring that you are the one assigned to me?”

“No, Sir,” she said brightly, “most of the girls are kind of terrified of you, Sir; big, scary Auror that you are. They’ll be thrilled to let me take the job.”

“Excellent.” Percival signed the final line of the form with a flourish and then watched as the Enchantment on the parchment activated. The form folded itself into an origami rat, which then scampered out via the entry in his office into the warren of tiny tunnels that ran throughout the building. “I’ll arrange for you to have a desk near the door to my office.”

Queenie nodded and then headed out of the space. At the door, she paused and then turned around.

“Sir,” she said cheerfully. “Dougal thinks that he might also be able to help break the fugues, he just saw that it was better if I did it in the elevator earlier. He’s offering to stay with you here today until we can get things settled.”

The Demiguise’s fur rippled in color as if to remind Percival of the creature’s skill at invisibility.

“Very well,” he agreed. “We’ll try it out.”

Dougal chirred happily and then swung out of Queenie’s hold. Climbing up to perch on top of one of Percival’s bookshelves, the creature made itself at home there.

“Be good, now,” Queenie said and left the room.

Bemused, Percival wondered, _which one of us was she talking to, there?_

Then he shook his head. He had a mountain of things to do, given that it was his first day back on the job after his extended ‘leave’. Still, at least he had one less thing to worry about.

Queenie had quickly settled into her role as Percival’s secretary. Before long he had no idea how he had managed before her arrival. She kept his calendar, streamlined the paperwork that his job required, and kept excellent records in his meetings. Besides the administrative tasks, she also helped improve his reputation among his peers and subordinates. She was the friendly face that everyone saw when they visited his office, balancing his natural gruffness with her cheerful personality. Besides, she always knew when to interrupt tense meetings, offering tea and snacks, or just ‘checking-in’.

Indeed, life was finding its new normal.

Still, Percival could feel a need growing in his mind, a hole that needed filling, a pull to some, amorphous other. He was hopeful that when he finally met Pelles in person, the bird would fill that hole. Deep in the recesses of his mind, he admitted that such a contact was probably insufficient. This need felt too grand to be satisfied by an animal, even one as special as Pelles; it felt like nothing less than a proper partner would be enough to fill it.

Then, one day, it happened.

Percival was sitting at his desk working through some paperwork that Queenie had delivered. Meanwhile, his hearing was boosted enough to keep watch over his friend and secretary despite the closed door. From down the hall, he heard the chime of the elevator arriving at their floor, and then a strange, oddly compelling repetitive thump.

The thump grew louder as it moved down the hall before it reached the desk where Queenie sat.

“Newt!” came Queenie’s excited squeal. “You’re here!”

“But… what are you…?” She paused, and then as if replying to a spoken comment, she added, “Oh, of course. And it’s wonderful to see you, too, sweetie!”

Percival’s focused hearing caught a muttered, “um…” from Queenie’s visitor, Mister Scamander if he’d heard right before she continued speaking.

“You know, Teenie’s out on a case right now. But Mister Graves is in his office if you are ready to see him.”

“Oh, no, I couldn’t disturb…”

“Nonsense, Mister Graves won’t mind. Besides, Dougal’s in there too right now. He likes visiting with the Director sometimes, has a perch in the office, and everything.”

Sure enough, the Demiguise was indeed in Percival’s office at that moment. As Queenie spoke, he dropped his customary invisibility and swung down from his perch on top of Percival’s bookshelf, claiming a seat on the desk in front of the Wizard.

Moments later, another, clearly flustered Wizard was practically shoved through Percival’s door by a beaming Queenie.

“You two have fun, now,” she said happily, shutting the door behind her with a wave.

Newt looked much like Percival had heard, dressed in a rumpled shirt and trousers with the blue coat that some of the Aurors had mentioned layered over top of them. His exposed face and neck were positively covered in freckles, no doubt a consequence of his recent travel. Percival couldn’t help his smirk when the other Wizard flushed at his frank appraisal. It only served to make the younger man more attractive.

“Um… Hello,” he said, looking at Dougal to avoid making further eye contact with Percival.

“And how are you, old man?” This question, clearly addressed to the Demiguise, came as no shock to Percival, nor did the ape’s next actions. Dougal swung down from the desk and headed over to Newt. Reaching for the Wizard’s case, he gazed up at the Magizoolologist with begging eyes. Percival knew from experience how potent that look could be, so he was unsurprised when Newt sighed and glanced up at Percival.

“I am already aware of your case’s secret, Mister Scamander. Go ahead and let poor Dougal in to visit with his friends. Just make sure that none of the other creatures come out. I don’t need my office trashed today.”

Percival could hear the thumping from before, which he realized was Newt’s heartbeat, speed up as he spoke. Still, the Magizoologist did follow Percival’s recommendation. He set the case on the coffee table that was near the couch where Percival had his more casual meetings and flipped open the latch. The lid of the case swung open, and Percival caught a glimpse of a wooden ladder before Dougal swung inside, closing the case behind him. He gave Percival a wave as he went inside the case, in much the same way that Queenie had when she closed the office door moments before.

“Sorry about that,” “Sorry,”

Percival and Newt’s apologies overlapped, making the younger Wizard blush and Percival chuckle. He waved for Newt to go first.

“I was just going to say that I hope that Dougal hasn’t been too much of a pest.”

“I see. Well, actually Dougal, and Queenie, have been a big help for me lately, though they both have a tendency to try and manage me.”

That made Newt give a choked off laugh before he replied. “Dougal did that to me for years, and I’m not surprised that Queenie is the same way. From what I saw of her during my last visit, she’s very good at managing people. It’s probably a side-effect of her talent.”

“Her talent, yes, though I’m fairly sure that she comes by that skill for other reasons as well. My older sister is much the same, and she doesn’t have a scrap of Legilimency. Fortunately, she lives halfway across the country in Chicago, so I don’t have to deal with her regularly, unlike Queenie.”

_Fortunately, Elaine didn’t try to visit while I was in Grindelwald’s hands. She would have figured out that there was something wrong, and I doubt that he’d have let her give away his secret._

The thought made Percival shudder. Elaine was the only family he had left, Elaine and her husband and children. Their parents had died when Percival was still in Ilvermorny, leaving Elaine with the task of raising her younger brother. Given the distance between them and their busy lives, these days the siblings rarely saw each other more than once a year, though they did exchange regular correspondence. During his imprisonment, Grindelwald had allowed Percival to write his sister to keep the ruse going. Of course, the Dark Wizard had threatened to harm her if Percival tried to use the letters to reveal his situation.

Even now, Percival had yet to reveal the full story to Elaine. He was waiting until the next time that they were face to face, or at least that was what he told himself. He didn’t want to admit that he was afraid of her response.

Percival’s distraction had allowed Newt to relax enough to claim a seat in front of the desk opposite the older Wizard. He seemed hesitant to speak, twisting his hands together in his lap, but finally, he managed to work up the nerve. Making eye contact with a curious Percival, he spoke.

“You wrote and asked about a black bird, something like a mundane vulture, correct?”

Wordlessly, Percival nodded.

Reaching into his coat pocket, Newt handed over a Wizarding photograph. There, in proper, not blue-tinted, color stood a bird that looked just like his spirit guide. In the picture, it mantled, and then resettled itself on a loop, an action that was all too familiar.

“Pelles,” he breathed.

“I take it that this is the same type of bird that you’ve seen?”

Percival nodded, “Exactly the same.”

That made Newt smile. “Well, then, I believe that I have someone for you to meet.”

He gestured towards his case.

Realizing Newt’s intent, Percival picked up the Enchanted horn that let him speak to Queenie without leaving the office. “I am going to be occupied for the next while, Queenie, please see that I am not disturbed.”

“Yes, Sir!” she said before hanging up. Without further ado, Percival followed the Magizoologist down into the depths of his unusual Menagerie.

**Author's Note:**

> This story was originally written for the July 2018 Rough Trade Challenge, Little Black Dress, which called for a 20k Sentinel & Guide Fusion story.  
> I'm planning to work on a sequel for the July 2020 Rough Trade Challenge, tentatively titled "Call of the Hunter", and wanted to put up the first story here first.


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